JC, TC
by A kittie boi
Summary: nine years later. who exactly is Todd Casil? M for later chapters. DUN OWN JTHM, belongs to Jhonen Vasquez, the lucky bastard, we luvs him anyway. :D


There was once a little boy named Todd Casil, or Squee as his best – and only – friend dubbed him at one point or another during their ''friendship''. He was small, and easily frightened. His parents were neglectful, his mother hopped on whatever she could find, his father abusive – both verbally and physically – and their hatred of him abounded in his childhood house. For a time, his voice, Shmee, was the good kind, hoping to save Squee from danger. Then, during Squee's time at the local loony bin his father placed him in, Shmee became the bad kind of voice. The change was sudden, and unexplained for the most part. Squee's nightmares were no longer hidden from him, and the horrors of the world revealed themselves in twos and threes, when his only savior vanished. When Johnny C died. Squee's mental state quickly deteriorated, then his parents moved, leaving him alone on the streets. Though that didn't last long as Shmee encouraged Squee to move into Johnny's abandoned household, and something buried deep within Squee flourished within those haunting and traumatizing walls. The little boy in Squee died. It was replaced by a tattered soul, a black and broken winged-angel, an artist and a poet and a writer, Todd "Squee" Casil became more than most of humanity could ever be.

**Chapter one: School is interesting, home is better**

"Class, I'll be taking attendance now," The new Art teacher said, smiling brightly. The class groaned in response. "No protests?" Another group groan. "Good! Emily Whiles?--" Todd let his head fall against the window pane, until he heard his name, and he uttered a 'here', startling the new teacher. She'd been expecting a groan, Todd thought in disgust. Across from him sat a moody Anti-Christ child, who also shared this dislike, but more openly, shown as he snorted and put his feet on his desk. Mr..." She checked her list. No surname, just – "Pepito, please take your feet down!" She chided him. Pepito snorted again, he flicked the unlit cigarette to the other side of his mouth. Todd eyed him with unease.

"Why should I?" Pepito asked mockingly. The teacher floundered in disbelief. "Don't give me any of that 'because I'm your teacher, and I said so', crap either." Pepito smirked in the way he did when he wanted that person to feel utterly embarrassed, useless and pathetic. It worked and she bit her lip. Todd sighed and spoke up.

"Pepito..." Came the warning. The son-of-the-devil glanced at Todd, then shrugged to hide his stabbed dignity. His feet came off the desk. The new art teacher smiled at Todd.

"Thank you, Mr..." She went to check her attendance list again. He beat her to it.

"Casil. Todd Casil." Todd said, returning his gaze to out the window, to the gray clouds filling up the silvery sky. She wanted to say more, Todd sensed, but didn't. She was an interesting teacher, Pepito, Squee and their three other friends; Dib, Zim and Gaz, decided. In fact, Squee went as far as to say he enjoyed her teaching the art class. She was undeniably a better teacher, and a more talented artist than their last, more... eccentric art teacher. Pepito said the man gave him nightmares.

This year they had all new teachers, classes and even a new principal. Mrs. Bitters had finally been fired, then peacefully died in her sleep. Todd suspected poison, his theory she'd somehow become immortal well-standing as she was as evil as someone he'd once known. Someone he couldn't quite remember, their outline tall, skinny and black against a world of white blurred faces. Red eyes, demonic like but comforting all the same. A distrustful, sadistically maniac grin. The actual features of the face he couldn't make out, but they wore a black and white sleeve striped shirt with a black chest, and "Z?" on their chest. Long black skinny pants, and strange boots. They were important, and tears sprang to his eyes every time he thought of the person, the shadow that lurked in his footsteps, in his mind outside of the light –

"Todd?" Gaz asked, coming to stand next to him. Her hand on his shoulder. She'd mellowed out from the sadistic goth she'd once been, now that her and Dib's dad had died from one of his own experiments. Living on their own, together, had caused them to become closer as a family, and as friends. Todd was thankful, because Gaz needed someone as caring as Dib as a brother, she needed someone steadfast and secure to keep her sanity there. Dib could be there, he could mend her heart, and her mind. And Gaz – in her own way – protected him back. Todd hoped they'd be okay. Right now she was giving him a concerned look, her fingers clenching his shoulder gently, and Todd shrugged the hand off, smiling at her with sad far-away eyes.

"I'm fine. Trust me." Todd told her, before walking off to his locker down the hall. Side-stepping the annoying jocks, bands, violents and even his own friends, lost in his own little world in which only him, and his nightmares existed. Shmee sat in his locker expectantly. Todd pulled Shmee out, holding in his arm as he packed the books and such into his backpack. His movements were slow, dead. Shmee's face was twisted in a cruel smirk, his eyes glittering with malice and hatred. He cooed at Todd mentally, telling him to burn things. To kill people. To hurt himself, and others. Todd had learned to ignore it, and somehow felt that the man – the one he couldn't remember – had gone through something like this. Something scarring that made him a horrible person, with a glorious vision of the world, with a vision for the future. An amazing idea never to be fulfilled.

* * *

Todd sighed. School was interesting, He thought stepping into the number 777 house. But home is better. He'd since cleaned up the dumpy house, putting down a real floor, polishing the wood till it shone in the dim light, the rooms above ground cleaned of all the blood and bodies. All horrible instruments moved into the bowls of the house, and he'd gotten rid of the tunnel that lead to his old house from this one. He'd almost collapsed the tunnel, but a pang made him simply put a locked door there instead. He couldn't destroy that tunnel. It was sentimental to him, but if he only knew how and why. Not knowing, he chose not to dwell on it. He threw his backpack onto the couch. 

He'd bought a second couch, finding himself unable to throw away, or burn the old, blood soaked couch that once stood in the living room. Instead he'd lugged it down the stairs – with Pepito's help – and rearranged an empty room in the second lower level to look just like the old living room. He felt that if the man ever came back, he deserved that much. Todd didn't think the man would ever come back though, if he hadn't in nine years. Todd found himself with watery eyes at that thought. Cursing he grabbed his backpack – which was empty of the homework he'd finished in study hall – and stomped downstairs. He opened it and yanked open his planner. There was an assignment. An art assignment. Todd raised his eyebrows and read the simple crisp white sheet, with black ink printed onto it. His lips curled up and he pulled out keys. They jingled as he searched for the key that would open a door he so often used, but never left unlocked, for fear it might be discovered. He found it. CLICK.

The door swung inward. In its wake no dust rose, but it revealed a room painted red, with brown blood splatters on the walls. There were buckets of paint, and blood in one corner of the room. A large untouched canvas against that same wall. Todd now walked to it, shutting the door behind him. CLICK. He put the keys back around his neck, knowing he didn't have to lock the doors of every house room. He did anyway. It made his fears – the few he had left, like of people coming and killing him, or trashing things here – fade away. He feared no man, or woman – with the exception of his friends, who were a little more than crazy – and feared no death that they could inflict upon him. His friends were excepted in this matter. They thought he was crazy for that. Well, Zim and Dib did. Gaz knew why the felt that way, and Pepito claimed he'd never let Todd die unless it was from old age, which made Gaz and Todd smile, knowing that the little anti-Christ could keep that promise. Long after he himself died.

Pulling up the wheeled chair, Todd sat. He opened the blood-filled paint can, and selected a paintbrush. It was dipped once, twice, thrice, then it was placed delicately against the canvas. His arm moved in an arc, dragging the dripping line with it. It glid with inhuman grace, a beauty humans couldn't compare to, couldn't compete with. The red, drying to brown, marks curved into shapes and dripped down with an interesting effect. The paint flicked across the canvas, splattering, forming, creating, and destroying all in movements of twos and threes. It was enchanting to watch. Todd smiled.

* * *

Gaz tapped her foot. Dib – next to her – had his fingers poised over the doorbell, which he was hesitant to push again. Gaz pushed him away and pressed it. 

"GHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Rang throughout the house. Dib flinched. The sound was a human locked up in a room somewhere in the house, hooked up to electrical devices, though he only screamed when the doorbell rang now. Instead of when the toilet flushed, or the blender was used, or the toaster. From within the bowels of the house, Todd lifted his eyes from his artwork, almost completed, to the ceiling.

"Come on Dib, just press it again." Dib squealed, pulling his fingers back from the doorbell. Just then the door opened. Dib sighed, relieved. Todd stood there, blood covering his arms, his face and in his hair it shone murkily. Gaz frowned at his appearance, Dib twitched squeamishly. Then she noticed the paintbrush in his hand. She relaxed.

"Painting for the art teacher?" She asked. Todd nodded, sliding from the door, opening it wider for them to enter. Gaz entered first, Dib behind her though he'd relaxed as well. Todd had gone through an animal abuse stage where he'd killed, tormented and literally torn apart small animals. He'd yet to kill Taco, though. The terrifying Chihuahua that had eaten one of his friends, when he was little once. Taco was an evil spirit, Pepito said, the spirit of a Nazi. Todd had figured out, a little after this, his friend had been Jewish. Nazi Chihuahuas...? Todd thought, shaking his head, what the hell was this world coming to? Not that he really wanted to know, he amended a moment later.

"So, what do you guys want?" Todd asked, leading them down into his special art room. CLICK. The door opened. CLICK. The lock slid into place. Dib eyed it uneasily. Todd blinked, then he went back and CLICK, unlocked it again. He shrugged apologetically. "I always lock the rooms, precaution to prevent anything from being stolen or broken and/or destroyed. Sorry." Dib nodded. It wasn't that he didn't trust Todd... he just... didn't know, he guessed that caution held him too tightly. Then again, it must be like that for Todd too. He smiled.

"You know me, Todd," He told the boy. "paranoid is my middle name..."

"Literally." Gaz added, smiling evilly. Dib glared at her, and she stuck out her tongue. Todd rolled his eyes and went over to his painting, after flicking the lights on. They were dim, but provided some light. Not much, though. Dib stared, mouth open. Gaz looked over, then her lips became a small 'o', at the sight that lay before her. Todd smiled.

"What do you think?" He asked.

No words could describe the master piece before them, the different – almost nebula like – shades before them were all blood, and they dripped down, mixed with black and a red – that was paint, for blood didn't keep its amazing color. In the middle was a white spot, which mixed softly with the harsher outsides of nebular colors. In the center of the whiteness, was a black silhouetted face. It had red eyes, spiky hair, and a twisted grin that sent shudders down the two sibling's spines. Two knives were black at the man's head, held by thin hands and arms. His torso and legs were black, but jutted down into the bloody outside. His feet had strange boots, but they were black, a silhouetted figure of hatred, confusion and a decaying mind. His tortured past -

"His name is Johnny." Todd murmured.

* * *

Gaz and Dib, it turned out, needed a place to live, and Todd grinned, they were welcome at his house of course. The next day, after school, they were moved in and Pepito was staying a couple of nights while his father and mother went off on another honeymoon or something. Pepito said the dammed screams upset him when he was trying to sleep. Todd smiled, he got lonely too, in the giant house that filled his dreams with nightmares, but was a welcome sight whenever he woke up, or got back from school. He hated his old house, 776. He hated the memories there, the corpses that were buried on the front lawn. His parent's corpses, twisted, dismembered, sick and the voices in his head. Their voices, begging for mercy his mother was pathetic, screaming obscenities his father was a moron.

* * *

Todd invited them shopping, but it seemed that only Pepito wanted to come, but he had to go pick up Zim. Todd shrugged it off, leaving their concerned, guilty faces behind as the door slammed from his neglect to close it nicely. His feet scuffed across the sidewalk, his pants frayed from the friction. He looked up and saw his destination; the 24/7 convenience store. Todd sighed and pushed open the door. Above him the dinging bells caught the attention of someone in the back, black spiky hair, black eyes, a mouth once twisted into a sickening grin, now slack. Long framed bones, and a black and white striped shirt with "Z?" on it. Todd walked over, and passed the man unseeingly. He stopped and picked up a bag of Senor Salsa chips, popcorn, and other such things. Then he walked over to the man, and picked up a cup, filling it up with Cherry Doom. Sighing he turned, and ran into the man. The force of the impact caused him to stumble, he looked up apologizing.

"Oh! Man, I'm sorry..." His eyes met black. His lips parted in shock and the Cherry Doom slipped from his fingers, the man caught it. His eyes slipped down and gazed at the slushy.

"I also... like Cherry Doom..." He said, his voice so painfully familiar. Todd's heart was pounding and tears filled his eyes. He knew him. This was Johnny. This was his Johnny, the same maniacal neighbor he'd had as a child, the same man he'd feared, but grown to love when he'd gone away, because there wasn't anyone in the world like Johnny. There wasn't anyone to protect him, to be there when his parents beat him. Pepito still had scared him too much back then. But the absence of Johnny had driven him to the anti-Christ finally, right before school started again, for both of them.

"Excuse me," Johnny said, handing Todd back his Cherry Doom. "I have to get back home." Todd bit his lip, then his eyes widened. Johnny was walking out. Todd, having already paid, followed him with his bags.

"Johnny?" He asked. The man froze. "Do you, really not recognize me?" Todd asked. Johnny rotated on his feet, staring at Todd with wide eyes, then realization hit like a mallet.

"Todd...? Squee? Little Squeegee?" He asked in disbelief. Todd nodded, looking away from the man with watery eyes.

"Yeah."

* * *

The door opened, and Gaz shot up. Dib, Zim and Pepito – who had come over during Todd's absence – all turned, tense. Todd walked through the door, followed by a tall, thin man. Gaz bit her lip. There was a moment of silence, in which Todd slipped into the kitchen, putting down the groceries while Johnny walked around his house – though it now belonged to Todd. 

"Squeegee," Johnny said. "Where's –" Todd came out of the kitchen and motioned for Johnny to follow him. Down they went, leaving the rest of the confused teens to follow them. The door Todd hadn't opened in a while, the room that Johnny used to call living room. CLICK. Johnny stepped in and stared, everything was there – even Nailbunny's corpse. Johnny had no idea what to say, as he stepped in and ran his fingers across the bunny-ear TV, and sunk onto his couch, the old bloodstains familiar and comforting to him.

"You've been gone nine years Johnny." Todd said. "Two of which I spent in the loony-bin, and the rest here, in this house. My parents, they're dead now, I'm sure you're pleased. My life, is better than before, but it hasn't been the same. Not without you. Nine years without you, Johnny. Do you know how much trouble I was in," Todd was getting angry, slowly, and surely. "when my dad woke up? I had four broken ribs, a broken arm, collarbone, a couple of toes snapped, one shattered... I had a concussion and severe head trauma, along with internal bleeding. I also had some glass wedged in my throat. The doctors were shocked, horrified even." Todd paused to laugh, while Johnny stayed silent, hand over his eyes, laying on his couch, looking for all the world dead. Todd knew he wasn't. "Nine years." Todd stalked over. He loomed, glaring down at Johnny, then drew his hand back. "Nine fucking years." SLAP. Flesh hit flesh, hard. Johnny lay, shocked. "How dare you." Todd turned on his heel and escaped the room, leaving four teenagers and one homicidal maniac in his wake.

"I was trying to find myself, Squee. I was trying to pick up the pieces of my soul, you would take that away from me, give me something better?" Johnny asked the air. "I'm sorry, Squee." Tears... How long had it been since he'd last cried? Ten, no twenty years? "I'm so, so sorry... I shouldn't of left."

Dib, Zim, Gaz and Pepito were beginning to feel uncomfortable, so they left Johnny on the couch, muttering to himself, drinking his tears. Pepito sighed, breaking a thick icy mist, and shook his head, saying 'you're right Johnny... you shouldn't of left.' Dib and Zim had no idea how to handle this, on any level, genius they may be, but only when it came to heartless, breathless machinery. _Humans? How the hell do you handle a human?_ And Gaz, well... She was worried. Excruciatingly worried, for both Todd and Johnny, and her brother, and Zim and Pepito even. Things were going horribly, horribly wrong.

* * *

As it turns out, the art teacher loved Todd's painting. It became a star piece for the gallery that was coming up in a week, along with Gaz's black and purple painting of broken, bleeding hearts surrounding a white silhouetted angel. Her only comment was that Todd's painting reminded her of anguished rage, and Gaz's was bitter anguish. Todd had smiled upon hearing this and pulled down his shirt a little, revealing a tattoo he'd hidden. Two glowing red eyes, a heart and a gun against it, blowing little broken hearts out the other side. 'this is how I feel' He explained, then walked out of class, the bell ringing just as he stepped outside. Gaz had shrugged at the teacher, and remarked that he was always like that, mysterious, angsty and full of a melancholy that had the tang of blood. 


End file.
